


Headed for a Heartbreak

by The_Onyx_Moon



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Parent Tony Stark, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reader-Insert, Rockstar AU, Smut, Tony Stark Has A Heart, dad tony stark, honestly, rockstar - Freeform, rockstar!bucky, this is a dumpster fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Onyx_Moon/pseuds/The_Onyx_Moon
Summary: Booze, Women, and Rock and Roll are the three things Avengers frontman Bucky Barnes knows best.  In a time when music rules, he is king.  ‘No’ isn’t a word this Rock God hears often.  Or, really, ever.  Not until you.





	1. It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock n’ Roll)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I fuckin ADORE the 80′s. The music, the fashion. UGH. I love it all. So naturally, I had to combine my favorite things: MCU, fanfiction, and 80′s. This is definitely going to have some dark themes - Substance abuse abound, TW. Now all aboard the Sin Express!

Eyes strain against flashing lights and haze against a pitch black stadium.

Ears ring as music fills the stage around him.

Girls scream, and you can practically hear panties hit the floor.

He smirks, smooths back sweat matted locks, rhythm vibrating through his muscular body as he bounds around the stage, winking to the masses of hormones watching him.

Bucky Barnes is more than used to this response, to the screams that fill the air when the lights come up on him and his band.   His nose is filled with the smell of the fog machine and it gets his blood pumping.

This is what he was born for, what he had worked his whole life for.

The Avengers was the biggest band around, the true definition of a hair band.  With Bucky on vocals, his best friend Steve and Vis on lead and rhythm guitar Clint on bass, and Thor on drums, they were definitely big with the female fan base.

They  _reveled_  in it.  In the way people worshiped the ground they walked on.  In the way women would throw themselves at their feet - and in their bed.  They never wanted for anything - because if they wanted it, they got it.

They were fucking  _mythic_.

Lord knows it had taken them a hell of a time to get where they were, but now they soaked it all in - much to their manager Sam’s chagrin.

But Bucky couldn’t have given less of a damn.

He came alive on stage.  Each and every night losing himself in the music.  It was his favorite place to be, and nothing and no one made him feel as alive as he does when he’s performing.

Leaving the stage was like coming down from a fucking high, and he’s honestly not sure which he hates more - though these days he doesn’t really know what it feels like.  With fame, came demons.  Bucky’s demons?  They had many names - mainly, women, drugs, and alcohol.  When he couldn’t lose himself in the haze of performing he would lose himself to the only things that came close.

Steve worries, of course he does - it’s  _Steve_  - but at this rate, Steve isn’t sure whether he wants to kill Bucky or save him.  And Bucky’s one more missed gig away from finding out which Steve is going to go with.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The smell of sweat and liquor overtake your senses.

Your lungs strain against the clouds of cigarette smoke.

Pierced ears are ringing from far too much bass.

Your eyes take in as much as they can in between strobes of light.

In a sea of bobbing heads of too much hair, you expertly sidestep drunken fans sloshing their drinks or teetering on their heels, careful not to spill your tray full of drinks.  

You’re used to dodging wandering hands from drunk patrons, but it’s always welcome to hear that familiar word of warning to “keep your hands off the fucking staff” from your boss and the owner of this joint, Tony Stark.

Unceremoniously, you plop shots and pints down on tables as you weave through the screaming and undulating bodies.

It's the same every single night.

The Compound was the most popular and arguably the most famous club in all of LA, and for good reason.  Countless bands had gotten their start on Tony Stark’s stage, and everyone wanted to work for him.

Though each night brought a new band, it was always the same stage, the same people who turned up trying to leave with one of the performers.  The club was a magnet for those who loved the nightlife and you really couldn’t blame them.  You were here after all.  Night after night, no matter how awful the crowds can be.  You could handle the drunk assholes, the dirty club, and the groping losers if it meant you could see a new concert every night.

And hey, working with your best friends didn’t hurt either.

“Sugar!”  Wanda cried as you approached the bar, rolling your eyes at some douche sliding off his seat and onto the floor.  She giggles at the way you sneer before stealing the now open bar stool.

“How much longer is the set?”  You scream over the music, jamming your thumb towards the stage.  Her response was to look over her shoulder at the clock on the wall of the bar, then back to you with a shrug.  A glance of your own confirmed that there was no telling when this would end as the gig was set to end over 30 minutes ago.

A groan ripped its way from your lips as you hopped off the bar stool to dish out more drinks even though last call was well past due.

You better drown in tips before you went home, or Tony was going to get it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“How much did you make?”  Natasha asked now that you could finally hear yourselves think.  Her long, perfect legs held her up as she leaned against the bar to count out her cash as you swept up broken glass, cigarette butts, and...wait, was that a condom?

“Not enough.”  You grumbled, leaning against the railing of the bar area.  Behind you, the band of the evening packed up their equipment.

Well, all but the singer.

No, he wasn’t packing up.  In fact, he wasn’t anywhere near the stage.

He was draped over the bar, a barely clad woman draped across his torso, her red lipstick smeared all over his throat.

“How do women still fall for them?  It’s no secret that rock stars will fuck anything that moves.”  Red locks fall from shrugging shoulders as Nat wipes down the table she had just been sitting at.  Neither of you really noticed the guitarist approaching until he was practically wedged between the two of you.

“Hey there, ladies -”

“Not interested.”  You both droned in unison, knowing what he had in mind.  He didn’t even have the decency to look wounded, only mildly disappointed until a groupie found him mere moments later.

The two of you had this routine down pat. You had to, what with the talent and egos that this place attracted.  Cocky musicians were a dime a dozen, and they thought they could get anyone they wanted.  Very rarely did they ever have the talent - or the, ah,  _equipment_  - to back up their egos.  But that didn’t stop these wannabe rock stars from trying to sleep with you and your friends each and every night.

“Pigs.”  Wanda groaned, rolling her eyes and she and her twin brother made their way over with cases of empty bottles.  How they found any that weren’t broken by the end of the night was always a mystery.

“Eh, let them have their fun.”  You giggle, pouring shots for your peers as you all wind down for the night.  “No one plays The Compound and goes home alone.”

“No one - except us!”  Natasha amends with a wink.

“And I wouldn't have it any other way!" You toasted, clinking your glass with hers and Wanda's before throwing it back. You glance around for Tony, ridding yourself of the shot glass before he can chastise you.  "This cash, my guitar, and a bottle of Jack are the only company I need.”  The liquor burns the entire way down but you love it, your voice still rough from it after not drinking for so long.  “God knows they’re all far more satisfying than any man or musician I’ve ever been with!”

“Amen, sister!”

"Ouch?" Pietro spoke up, knowing damn well that you were just poking fun. You knock his shoulder with your own, the two of you chuckling as Tony gathered everyone around to close out for the night.

"Alright, everyone, shut up.” he says firmly, "I've got some news."

Your ears perked up at that. Tony had always been one for grandiose announcements, but he seemed like he was about to go flying at any moment. 

“Alright, everyone!  That’s a wrap.  Go home, get some rest.  This place is going to be crazy come Friday.”

“Why’s that Tony?” Wanda asks, perched in between you and Natasha on her own barstool. Behind her, Pietro leans against the bar.

“Well, because we’ve got a show, of course!" You snort at that.  You had a show everynight.  So what the hell was he talking about?  “And I’m paying you overtime” You would've celebrated with victory whoops then and there, but you knew there was more. If there weren't, Tony wouldn't have gathered everyone together.

"Bout time! You've been working us ragged for far too long, old man!" Nat says to which Tony sneers playfully at her. "Who's headlining?" When he pauses momentarily, you know this is the real news.

"The Avengers."

You could hear a pin drop.

Oh wait, no, not a pin, that was the new girl - Sharon - who had just hit the floor.  
You had to admit, you'd felt a little faint too, though you prided yourself on the fact that you stayed upright.

"The Avengers?" Wow, it was hard to speak.

"Yup."

"The Avengers? As in Bucky Barnes and The Avengers? The Avengers that played here five years ago and put this place on the map? Those Avengers?" You were sure you were sweating.

"The very same."

Your throat burned. Your head was pounding. Your vision was a little foggy.  
As if sensing your own need before you even could, Wanda placed a shot in your limp hand.  Tony promptly snatches it away, giving you a firm stare before handing it off to Bruce who’s hot on his heels.  Honestly, you’re too far into your own little world to notice any of it.

The Avengers.

You were going to die. Or scream. Whichever came first.

And by the looks on everyone's faces as they spun to look at you - it was the scream. The scream had come first.


	2. Pour Some Sugar on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s where the fantasy of the “80′s rockstar fantasy” comes in.

The Compound is absolutely abuzz over the next few days.  Tony orders more beer than you’ve ever seen in your life and that’s saying something.

He has all of you move most of the tables and stools to the back - ‘believe me, people won’t want to sit during this show’ - and he isn’t wrong.

The Avengers aren’t even supposed to arrive for another few hours and you can barely move through the dense crowd that’s turned up.

You regret the time you took to do your makeup and hair now, knowing full well neither would survive how hot it was in this damn bar.  Too many frickin’ bodies.

You’d never envied the Maximoff twins as much as you did now - what with them being able to hide behind the bar while you and Natasha were stuck navigating the floor.

If possible, more people pile into the building as the first opening act begins to wind down.

They were good, you’d give them that, but they were going to fade into the background the second Bucky Barnes takes that stage.

Your nerves come to life at the thought.  Bucky Barnes,  _the Bucky Barnes_ , was going to be in your - well Tony’s - bar in less than 30 minutes and Tony had entrusted  _you_  with keeping their green room stocked and ready.

Nat had eaten that shit up, damn well knowing how much you looked up to those men.  ‘You need to sing for them!’  She urged but met nothing but your protests.  ‘At least play something for them on your guitar.  We all know you keep it stashed in the stock room.’

The idea was seductive, you’d give her that, and even though you’d shot her down at every urging, it still rattled around in your over-wired brain.  You were definitely _not_  going to embarrass yourself by throwing yourself at their feet - and in their dressing room - to beg for a big break.

Tony knew about your dream.  Knew that you longed to be up on the stage instead of serving piss poor liquor in front of it.  He’d offered to let you play opening for some of the lesser known groups that rolled through here but you quickly declined.  As kind as he was to even offer, you wouldn’t be able to get past your stage fright to sing so much as a single note, let alone a full set.

Since then, everyone did their best to build you up but knew deep down that it was a lost cause.  You were stubborn and you weren’t going to do anything you didn’t want to do  ~~even though you _did_  desperately want to perform~~.

“Sugar!”  Wanda calls from the bar, her voice somehow carrying over the overkill guitar solo screeching through the air.  This dude was alright, but he was no Steve Rogers.  She blinds you with a smile when you approach.  “Sugar!  Tony’s looking for you!  I think they’re here!”

Sound as you know it ceases to exist as your best friend grins excitedly at you.  You’d thought you were prepared.  

You were wrong.

You mumble something akin to ‘cool, thanks’ though it’s impossible for her to hear you over the booming music.  Your numb legs take you through the club, barely registering when people knock into you.  Instead, your focus is fully locked on the open green room door that you can see beyond the stage.  Light spills out from the frame, shadows moving around and by the number of shadows you see milling around in there, you know for sure that  _they’re_  here.

You see them before they see you beyond the door frame, the tallest of the men beside Tony.  Tony’s clutching a glass in his hand that’s filled with a dark liquid.  To anyone else, it’d look like liquor.  But you knew Tony well enough to know that he hadn’t touched the stuff since Bruce came into his life.  

No, Tony was nursing flat cola, - something only you knew he did - as the owner of the best club in LA he had to keep up appearances, after all.  And by the look on his face when Thor Odinson tells him a less than compelling joke, he only  _wishes_  he was drinking something stronger.

It’s in that moment that he sees you and relief washes over his entire frame.

“Sugar!”  Tony greets, slinging your nickname at you.  He gives a half assed ‘excuse me’ as he ditches his drink and ushers you inside.  You smile shyly, your throat drying instantly as you enter the room.  There before you stands Avengers.

_I will not faint.  I will not scream._

And surprisingly, you don’t do either.

Steve Rogers is the first to approach you, his kind eyes lighting up the room when he extends a hand to shake yours.  Dazzling teeth peek out from thick, pink lips framed by a thick beard.

His touch shocks you back to the present, and by some fucking miracle, you smile back and introduce yourself like a normal human being.  But that might be because the infamous man in front of you seems to be as big of a dork as you.  Thor is right behind him in introductions, offering his hand as you gape up at his insane height and stature.

“Alright, gentlemen.  I’ve got to get back to my club before the patrons rip it down from the inside out.  If you need anything, just let Sugar here know.”  Tony’s hand claps down on your shoulder, drawing your attention to him.  A slight tip of his eyebrows behind his blue tinted glasses and a small smile lets you know that he’s trusting you with this.

No pressure.

“Sugar?”  Thor questions with a smirk.  A hot blush pulses over your neck and cheeks at that.  You’d had the nickname ever since you started at the Compound, but you couldn’t tell  _them_  why.  How embarrassing would it be to announce that you earned the nickname by belting out their song ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ when cleaning one night when you thought you were alone.  Of course, Tony had informed everyone, and it just kinda stuck.

Thankfully, it’s in that moment that the lump on the couch decided to make himself known and that’s when you realize it’s Clint Barton.  The bassist snortles awake, eyes immediately landing on you.  A smirk crosses his handsome face followed by a nod and a wink - one that Steve promptly rolls his eyes at.

Not wanting to give him any more attention, Steve leads you over to the other guitarist of the group, a very quiet and soft-spoken man who shakes your hand with absolutely no words.  You couldn’t see why Wanda was so obsessed with this particular band member.

“This moody little shit it Vis.  Vis, Sugar.”  Steve offers when Vis makes no move to introduce himself.  Almost instantly after shaking your hand, he drops it, smiling only for a moment before averting his eyes nervously.

“Ahem!”  Clint clears his throat dramatically, twirling Thor’s drumsticks between his fingers.  You cock an eyebrow at him, recognizing the bassist who you’d presumed before this moment to be the quiet type.

“Oh.  And that lazy is Barton.”  Steve offers, shrugging.  “You can ignore him.”

“I can fuckin hear you, dude!”  Steve easily dodges the drumstick that hurtles towards the two of you in retaliation.  Thor rockets off the couch to chase his drum stick across the green room.

“Hey, I need that!”

By now, you’re sure your eyebrows have reached your hairline as you observe the men before you.  

Interesting how on stage they seemed like such different people.  Cool and collected Steve was as goofy and nervous as you, Clint was nowhere near as quiet as his rocker persona lead you to believe,  Thor…well, Thor was the big, loveable oaf you had expected him to be.  Vis - who seemed to be the ultimate ladies man when performing - was still having trouble being in your immediate vicinity.  They were all just regular guys, and it calmed your nerves immensely.

But there was one missing…

“Where’s the front man?”  You ask, opting not to use his full name and reveal just how big of a fan you actually are.  You’re sure they already experience their fair share of super fans, and would rather the woman in charge of their green room be calm, cool, and collected.

Steve rolls his eyes at your question and you don’t miss how his jaw ticks in annoyance.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”  He snarls and you damn near jump away from him at the tone that sends full on chills down your arms.  Ok, yeah, now you could definitely see how easily Steve could become the panty dropper he was on stage.

Libido aside, you glance around to the other band members for help, but they all have the same response.

“Well…shit.”

Tony was going to flip.

And not only that, the mob of people currently occupying the dance floor was going to turn this place upside down until they got the Avengers.

* * *

“Tony!”  You hiss, trying desperately to catch him before he makes his way to the stage to introduce his headliners.  Of course he can’t hear over the music, and after several more attempts to catch him with just his name, you hurdle yourself over the bars separating the crowd from the green room and grab his hand.

“Sugar?  What the hell are yo-”

“Barnes isn’t here!”  You rush, eyes darting to the opening act and hoping to god they’ve got more in their pocket than the short setlist they’d prepared.

Tony’s eyes widen at the news then follow yours to the band onstage.  After several moments and a few curses, Tony starts chanting ‘encore’.  Drunk and innebriated patrons are all too happy to join in, much to the band’s immence shock and joy, and they fire into another song and grant you and Tony about three minutes to figure out what the hell you’re going to do.

“I have a club full of fired up Avengers fans and you are telling me that Bucky Barnes isn’t fucking  _here_?!”  Venom drips off of Tony’s every word, fire burning hot in his eyes and you know he isn’t mad at  _you_  but…well, Tony doesn’t often leave the messenger unscathed.  With a signature Stark groan, he wrenches you by the arm back into the Avengers’ green room.

“Do we have an E.T.A. on Barnes?”  He asks coolly as if he wasn’t seconds away from combusting at the thought of having to give away free beer to keep things under control.

Steve simply laughs at the question, standing even with a fuming Tony.  Something unspoken passes between the two of them - a red hot spark as they hold eye contact - and you make a mental note to ask Tony ‘what the hell was that?!’ later.

“Fuck!”  Tony barks, arms thrown up in the air as he ponders what the hell to do.  After maybe a minute of pacing you all hear the music in the main hall end followed by a ferocious cheer by the mob of drunken fans.  Fire lit under his ass now, Tony nods to himself.  “Ok!”  He announces as the band stares at each other at a loss.  “Here’s what you’re going to do!  You’re going on-”

“Without our frontman?  Tony, we can’t do -”

“The hell you can’t!  I’ve got a club full of people out there who paid out the ass to see  _you_.  You are going out there, dammit.”

“Ok, but what the hell are we going to do?!  I can sing the back up vocals, Tony, but I can’t sing like Bucky can!  Are we just gonna do an instrumental set?”

“No.”  Tony grabs your bicep tightly, hauling you forward.  “You’re going to play like you always do.  Sugar’s going to sing.”

“What?!”  Your shriek blends with the other four shrieks from the band in question but Tony doesn’t falter.

“Sugar knows all of your songs backward and forwards and she’s got a helluva set of pipes.  Believe me.  You won’t be disappointed.”

“Tony, you know I trust you.  But you’re asking me to put a lot of faith on words alone.”

Tony doesn’t even flinch, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you close.

“Steve.  You know I would never do anything to sabotage you guys.  Y/N’s one of the most talented people I’ve ever met.  I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t have the utmost faith in her.  She’ll blow them all away.  She’ll blow  _you_  away.”

Steve’s eyes narrow, glancing to you, then back to Tony - still not convinced.

“No One Like You?”  He asks, naming one of their biggest hits.

“She kills.”  Tony answers without missing a beat.

“Here I Go Again?”

“Duh.”

“Pour Some Sugar on Me?”  Tony chuckles, a blush heating your cheeks as you glance at anywhere but the band.

“Rogers…how the fuck do you think she got her nickname?”

After several long moments where you forget how to breathe entirely, the crowd’s roar grows louder and louder.  ‘A-ven-gers!  A-ven-gers!  _A-ven-gers_!”

“Make a decision, Cap, cuz I’m introducing you now before my club gets ruined.”

It’s deathly silent in the room as each member gives each other meaningful looks.  Vis bites his lip, Clint shrugs, Thor and Steve nod to one another.  And you’re burning a damn hole in your stomach with nerves.  Finally, blue eyes find you and Steve blows the breath he’d been holding out with a look of utter determination.

“Alright, Sugar.  Guess you’re an honorary Avenger, now.  Let’s knock ‘em dead.”


	3. Teas'n, Pleas'n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone tell that I got the idea for this series while reading The Dirt? There’s also some Rock of Ages vibes sprinkled in. Songs featured are [Kickstart My Heart by Mötley Crew](https://open.spotify.com/track/7GonnnalI2s19OCQO1J7Tf?si=aGsGskjwTzK3enAIwe23UA), and [Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard](https://open.spotify.com/track/0PdM2a6oIjqepoEfcJo0RO?si=pvg7k6HcTfK_2uobVBb5ug).

“Alright, Alright!  Shut the fuck up!”  Tony Stark’s voice rings out through the crackling speakers.  The microphone carries his voice over the drunk mass in front of him.  Behind him, the roadies switch out instruments and make sure everything’s working alright.  “Let’s hear it one more time for Inhumans!”

Your heart hammers, blood roaring in your ears as you read over the set list Steve had handed you.

You knew all the songs like the back of your hand.  You’ve sung them each at least a thousand times, this  _should_  be a cake walk.

But then you look out to the crowd and your stage fright comes back with a vengeance - fire in your blood and ringing in your ears.

“You ready?”  Steve breaks you from your thoughts, his strong hand on your shoulder as the other three band members bound up the steps and onto the stage as Tony introduces the group with his signature flourish.

You want to scream.

Want to crawl out of your skin and infinitely further into yourself at the same time.

But Tony’s trusted you with this.

No - he’s offered you the chance to do what you love.  What he knows you would never have the courage to do on your own.

Swallowing the treacherous butterflies, you nod and are dazzled by his bright smile.

“Let’s fuckin’ do this.”  You’re not sure who he’s trying to convince more.

It’s obvious the moment you step on the stage that this isn’t at all what people were expecting.

The Avengers is famously headed by Bucky Barnes - who always performs shirtless, showing off the intricate ink that makes up the tattoo sleeve of his left arm.  You - a petite in comparison woman who’s very much clothed and standing like a deer in headlights - are  _not_ Bucky Barnes.

The nerves are back.  They trail you to the mic where you blink into the bright spotlight and have to remind yourself how to breathe.

Your stomach turns, the sharp taste of bile stinging your tongue as the room remains silent aside from the confused murmurs and only a few annoyed shouts of ‘who the fuck are you?’.

 _This is where they boo me off stage._   You think.   _Where they chant for Barnes and tell me to go fu-_

“Fuck yeah, Sugar!”  Your friends cheer from the back of the bar and your head snaps up to see them all huddled close and smiling like idiots.  You laugh, breathless as their cheers and whistles stir up more from the throng of strangers.  Soon, the roar drowns out the naysayers and everything becomes so deafening that you worry won’t be able to hear the music.

But then it starts, Steve dragging his pick across the strings and kicking off into one of their first singles.  After a moment, Clint and Vision join in before Thor sets your blood ablaze with a dizzying beat.

The words come naturally, your eyes drifting closed as you do your best to pretend you’re alone in the club, sweeping up after a long night and let the lyrics take control.

 _When I get high I get high on speed_  
_Top fuel funny car's A drug for me_  
_My heart, my heart, k_ _ick start my heart_

 _Always got the cops Coming after me_  
_Custom built bike doing 103_  
 _My heart, my heart_  
 _Kick start my heart_

You’re not 100% sure when you opened your eyes, but the crowd is bouncing along with you, cheering along with the chorus as you come alive.  Your smile is electric.

 _Oh, are you ready girls?_  
_Oh, are you ready now?_  
 _Ooh, yeah! Kick start my heart Give it a start_  
 _Ooh, yeah, baby Ooh, yeah_  
 _Kick start my heart Hope it never stops_  
 _Ooh, yeah, baby_

_Skydive naked From an aeroplane_   
_Or a lady with a Body from outer space_   
_My heart, my heart_   
_Kick start my heart_

Fuck, you’ve never felt like this.  Not when you were drunk.  Not when you were high.  And sure as shit not when you were intimate with any of your exes.  It’s indescribable and if you weren’t so lost in the sensation, you’d be shocked at how this woman who is but  _isn’t_  you commands the stage.

 _Yeah, are you ready girls?_  
_Yeah, are you ready now?_  
 _Oh, yeah! Kick start my heart Give it a start_  
 _Oh, yeah, baby Ooh, yeah_  
 _Kick start my heart Hope it never stops_  
 _Oh, yeah, baby_

Roars fill your ears, chants of ‘Sugar’ carrying in the hazy air.  You breathe in the cigarette smoke, your fingers shaking as you cradle the mic in your hand.  You look to Steve, eyes wild and smile contagious and he smirks at your energy.  It reminds him of the first gig he ever had with Bucky all those years ago.

And then he approaches you, wrapping his strong fist around your own to raise the mic to his lips.

“Step inside walk this way. You and me babe?”  The microphone thankfully doesn’t pick up your snort of laughter at the song.  Then you’re leaning in and shouting with him “Hey hey!” before he’s bouncing off to shred with Vis and you take the lead once more.

 _Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on_  
_Livin' like a lover with a radar phone_  
 _Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp_  
 _Demolition woman, can I be your man?_

 _Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light_  
_Television lover, baby, go all night_  
 _Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet_  
 _Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah, yeah_

_So c'mon, take a bottle, shake it up  
Break the bubble, break it up_

Your hands trail your body, the audience melting away as you sway to the song, belting it out at the top of your lungs.  Somewhere at the bar, Nat and Wanda are screaming at your courage, sharing shots in celebration of their best friend being the mother fucking badass she is.

 _Pour some sugar on me_  
_Ooh, in the name of love_  
 _Pour some sugar on me_  
 _C'mon, fire me up_  
 _Pour your sugar on me_

_I can't get enough_   
_I'm hot, sticky sweet_   
_From my head to my feet, yeah_

You’re winking, crouched low to tease those in the front row and the adrenaline bubbles in your throat, tears stinging your eyes, and a smile that’s impossible to fight crossing your face.

 _Listen! red light, yellow light, green-a-light go!_  
_Crazy little woman in a one man show_  
 _Mirror queen, mannequine, rhythm of love_  
 _Sweet dream, saccharine, loosen up_  
 _Loosen up_

If possible, the screeches multiply as you get more comfortable in your skin, your hips circling to the slow, underlying beat.  Your lip gets trapped between your teeth as you glide a hand down your thigh and smirk when the crowd goes wild once more.

But then a harmony that hadn’t been there before makes you jump, returning to reality with a painful thump and you’re searching desperately for the source of the voice.

And there he is.

Three fucking feet from you.

Bucky Barnes, singing  _your_ backing vocals.

Perfectly tanned, sweat slicked skin teases you.  Bucky’s rocking his signature look - low hanging jeans with absolutely no top.  The silver ink that trails up his left arm weaves a tapestery of beautiful tattoos that fade into his shoulder and become his perfectly sculpted chest.  You almost forget to sing, too preoccupied by the view.

Never one to be upstaged, though, Bucky joins the show, notching himself right against your back, his body hugging all the curves of your own as he sings the words with you and drags his obscenely large hands up your body.

 _You gotta squeeze a little, squeeze a little_  
_Tease a little more_  
 _Easy operator come a knockin' on my door_  
 _Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet_  
 _Little miss innocent sugar me, yeah, yeah_  
 _Give a little more_

He spins you as the next chorus starts, ditching his own microphone to sing into yours with you and fuck he is just so close.  Your tank top is thin, doing almost nothing to separate your skin from his.  It feels like you’re the only two in the room when he sings I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet and gyrates against you and you have to remind yourself not to hump your idol back in front of all these people.

But then he doesn’t play fair, hands grabbing your ass and pulling you close enough for you to feel him through his ripped jeans and hold the microphone up to his perfect, plump lips.

 _You got the peaches, I got the cream_  
_Sweet to taste, saccharine_  
 _'Cause I'm hot, say what, sticky sweet_  
 _From my head, my head, to my feet_

He finishes the song on his own, all your energy is dedicated to not melting as Bucky Barnes uses you as a prop for the song.

Christ, you’re out of your element.

The second the song ends, your arms go limp - no longer have to be a human mic stand - and you turn for the exit before Bucky is pulling you close again.  Closer than before.  So close that he’s capturing your lips with his own to the immense joy of the crowd who fucking erupts as he fucks your mouth with that sinful tongue.  He tastes like bourbon and ash and sets a fire where his fingers caress your skin.

“Miss me?”  He asks the lustful crowd into the microphone and - wait, when did he take that from you?  “Aw, I missed you too.  But isn’t it always better after  _waiting for it_?”  He chuckles, licking his lips with a wink.  His blue eyes lock on you, hungry and challenging.

In an instant, you find your legs, and bolt of the stage like a flash of lightning.  Bucky chuckles, making some sexual quip to the audience as you search for a bucket of ice water to dunk your fucking head in. 

  
 

* * *

The couch of the green room has been your home for the past hour as you numbly listen to The Avengers finishing up their set.

It’s not like you could go back onto the floor, Tony wouldn’t let you serve drinks and you weren’t in any hurry to be mobbed by the drunk fans who would want to kiss the lips that kissed Bucky Barnes.

Your heart lurches at the thought, your fingers dragging over your lips.  His had been dry, cracked, and tasted faintly like chalk.  That is until his tongue was added to the mix and tasted of every vice you’d ever broken yourself of.  It should have been wrong, should’ve disgusted you.  Instead, it set fire to your blood and kickstarted your heart.

What the fuck was that all about, anyway?!

“There she is!”  Tony announces his arrival, scooping you up into a crushing hug.  Behind his tinted glasses, his eyes are slightly watering and before you can tease him about it, he’s clearing his throat.  “I’m proud of you, kid.”  He says, before pushing out of the hug and acting as if it hadn’t happened.

“Sugar,”  Steve’s voice cuts through the moment and you realize four out of five of the band members are standing before you with large grins.  “You saved our fuckin asses out there.  We owe you.  Big time.”

“Oh, no, you don’t owe me any-”

“Uh, and why the fuck not?”  Clint snarks, throwing his arm over your shoulders.  “Girl, you’ve got a serious set of pipes.  Fuck, I think you’re better than Buck.”

Buck.

Where was he?  The man who’d just rocked your fucking world with a single, sloppy kiss.

“I can’t even argue.”  Ah.  There, leaning against the wall, his previously bare torso covered by black leather that makes your god damn mouth water.  “You can really fuckin sing, Doll.”  His eyes trail your body for the millionth time tonight, his bottom lip tucking up between his perfect teeth.  “And move.”

It’s suggestive, melts your insides instantly, and you have to physically restrain yourself.

“Not that I’m not incredibly grateful and blown away,” Steve says to you with a smile before suddenly turning cold when he speaks to his ‘best friend’, “but if  _someone_  had shown up on time, she wouldn’t’ve had to save our sorry asses!”

Bucky merely shrugs as if the whole ordeal had been no biggie.

You scoff as realization washes over you at the sight of his dark-rimmed, bloodshot eyes.

Yes, Bucky Barnes was standing before you.

Bucky Barnes, in all his glory.

And he’s absolutely fucking  _hammered_.

Realization is a sour, heavy weight in the pit of your gut.

Jesus fucking Christ, he was just like every other wannabe rock star that played this damn place.

“Barnes, are you fucking stoned?”  Steve seethes, dropping the nice guy act so fast it makes your head spin.  He’s practically growling at his life long friend and suddenly you don’t want to be in this room anymore.

“Oh, don’t give me a lecture, Rogers.  I showed up, didn’t I?”

“Two fuckin songs late!”  Steve roars and you slink away from the scene.  “This is the third goddamn time this month!  What the fuck have you been doing, you piece of shit?!”

Oh god, this isn’t at all what you’d been expecting.  You knew the group had big personalities and even bigger tempers, but the rumors didn’t hold a candle to the energy rolling off of Steve’s shoulders.  It was like being in the room with a ticking bomb.

“Like I’m the only one who’s been late.”  Bucky stumbles as he meets Steve’s challenge, chest puffing up like the other man’s.  “You forgettin’ the time your fuckin’ wife wouldn’t let you off the fuckin’ tour bus cuz you told her you weren’t ready to put a goddamn kid in her?  Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that a much bigger gig than this one?”  His head peeks around Steve to look to Tony.  “No offense.”

Your boss doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“Don’t you fucking bring her into this, man.”

The tension in the room is palpable as they step closer and closer, each daring the other to back down.  Bucky crossed the line and Steve is barely refraining from beating some sense into him.

“Or what?”

No one is expecting the blonde to rear back and knock Barnes on his ass with a wicked right hook, but that’s exactly what happens.  Steve breathes in slowly as his best friend clutches his now bleeding nose.  He’s too high to properly react, chuckles rumbling in his chest as he stumbles to his feet and stares at the crimson on his fingers.

“Asshole.”  Steve snarls, exiting the green room without another word.  Tony follows, then the rest of the band, and then it’s just you and Bucky Barnes.

There was a time you would’ve given your left arm for an opportunity to be alone with him.  But after what you just witnessed?  You’re shocked  _you_  haven’t punched him.

He struggles to stand - a far cry from the suave man who bounced around the stage not too long before.  But somehow he finds his way to his feet, his glazed eyes finding you again.

“Looks like it’s just us, Doll.”  The kiss replays in your head and you find yourself wondering what else he can do.  You shake yourself back to reality about the same time he’s righted himself, hand sweeping through his sweat greased hair as he smirks at you.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you even see a bit of fear or sorrow in his eyes.

 

 

Sexual allure rolls off of him in waves and you can tell he’s a man who gets what he wants.  When he wants it.

But not this time.

“No, looks like it’s just you.”  And though you desperately want to stay and fuck the drugs out of his system, you’re not going to let yourself stoop so low.  If he wanted that, he could go find some groupie.  And after telling him exactly that, you’re out of the room after the others.


	4. You've Got Another Thing Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Digging a little deeper into the demons plaguing our dear Y/N.
> 
> TW that apply: sexual harassment, drug use, addiction.

_**Six years ago** _

_Concrete digs into your bare thighs, your torn shorts doing little to keep the abrasive ground from tearing at your skin.  Beside you, your guitar soaks in the rain._

_Another failed gig._

_Well, no, you couldn’t say that._

_You would’ve had to_ **book** _the gig first in order to ruin it.  And fuck knows you didn’t book it.  You never did._

 _Time and time again, you would try to convince bar owners to hear you out - to let you play just_ **one** _song and they wouldn’t be sorry.  Most of the time they’d cut you off a couple of measures in.  Sometimes they’d even tell you to fuck off and fuck out of their bar before you even started singing._

_Tonight made your skin crawl._

_Rumalow, the slimy little sleaze who owned Hydra - a popular club on the strip - had only half-listened to your ‘audition’, had stared at you like you were a piece of meat the whole time._

_“Have you considered dancin’?”  He asked, eyes glued to your breasts.  You shot that shit down immediately.  “Shame.  I’d be inclined to let you perform if I could see some more of that pretty skin.”  He’d said, circling you.  His dark eyes pin you where you’re standing in his small office, his meaty hand flicking the lock on the door before he’s rounding back to his chair, fly already halfway down.  “Though there’re other ways to convince me…”_

_You’d already been in L.A. for a year.  A whole fucking year of scraping by on some bullshit waitress gig, and here opportunity was staring you in the face.  You could do this.  For the sake of your music._

_Your dream winning over all common sense, you’d ended up on your knees in the disgusting office.  Choking down your pride - and Rumalow’s cock - you sucked him off to his deep grunts and praises that made your stomach turn._

_The only thing getting you through it was the promise of playing Hyrda._

_But that had been a lie._

_The moment he’d finished, he pulled you off by your hair, mumbling some bullshit about how he’d had better and how he’d give you a call.  ‘Maybe.  Probably not.’  Then he’d chased you out of his office, flinging your guitar in your face followed immediately by the slamming of the door._

_You’d known this industry was tough._

_Knew that before you moved out here._

_But you came anyway, promising that you’d make it - whether it be through spite, raw talent, or just putting yourself out there over and over again - you’d make it.  Fuck, you just blew a guy to get a shot at playing._

_But as time went on, it seemed like maybe your parents had been right when they said you’d never make it.  That you would burn out before you even played one show.  That you’d end up dead in the gutter, smack in your veins._

_You laugh a hollow sound at the thought, pulling tighter on the belt wrapped around your arm.  Your pulse jumps in your arm._

**There you are.**

_Biting down on the leather, you groan as the needle breaks your skin.  A familiar sting, a euphoria spreading through your body as your thumb pushes down on the plunger.  You back burns against the bricks of the ally way you’re currently camped in._

_Another bright-eyed kid who moved to L.A. with a dream only to wither into another of the doped up husks._

* * *

 

##  **_Now_ **

“Oh. My. GOD!!”  Natasha absolutely screeches after the place finally clears out enough for you to make your way to the bar.  After Steve and Bucky’s…disagreement, you’d made your way out back.  Thoughts were running rampant, too many to keep track of and you may have bummed a cigarette off of one of the roadies.  The nicotine was a familiar comfort on your tongue, the embers burning lowly in the light.  You got about halfway through before your stomach turned and you see Tony’s frown in the back of your mind.

Moments after that, the offending smoke was ground beneath the heel of your boot.

“What the fuck was  _that_?”  Your fire-haired friend asks, Wanda leaning over the bar beside you.  They’re smiling ear to fucking ear and they want details.  So you give them.

Sorta.

“I…honestly, don’t know.  Tony just kinda…threw me up there.”  Adrenaline was pumping hard through your veins, a smile almost impossible to wipe off.  You fucking did  _that._  You performed at  _The Compound_.  With  _The Avengers_.  You. did.  that.  shit.

With a roll of her eyes, Natasha shakes her head, hands waving frantically in front of her.

“No, no.  We know about that.  Tony explained everything.  Besides, we always knew you had it in you to rock the fucking house down.”  She smiles, pressing a kiss to your cheek.  You smile and when she pulls away, she’s wearing a smirk that mirrors Wanda’s.  “We mean that  _kiss_!”

Oh.

_That._

“I…uh, I don’t know.”  You say, and it’s true.  You don’t know what it was.  You don’t know how Bucky got under your skin in the handful of seconds he held your lips.  How his touch burned itself into your memory and tumbled through your overstimulated brain over and over.  “A way to rile the audience up.”  You supply with a shrug.

The looks on their faces tell you they don’t buy it for a second.  Thankfully, though, they don’t pry.

“Sugar, I’m so insanely proud of you.  You sang with the fucking Avengers.”  Nat sounds like a proud parent.  Beside you, Wanda presses a kiss to your other cheek.

“Could you just shit?”  You laugh loudly, garnering a few glances from the sparse patrons left.  She asks you about the band.  About Vis,  _how dreamy is he?!_ As not to burst the image of him she’s built up in her head, you avoid the question and instead answer her other question.

“Uh, yeah.  Pretty sure I did.  My pants.  Right up,” you point to where you’d been singing on stage just a few hours ago, “there!”

Their laughter joins your own before your shoulders suddenly sag.

Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.  And it was wearing off.

You never did do too well with the comedown.

“I’m gonna head home.”  Fisting a few nuts in your hands to make up for the emptiness in your stomach, you push away from the bar.  Your head spins lightly.   _Need water._

“Hey, you good?”  Nat asks, her chipper tone melting away as her perfect eyebrows pull low over suspicious eyes.

“Yeah, just tired.  Becoming an overnight sensation is exhausting.”  No one buys your weak laughter.  They have the decency not to say so.  “Just need some sleep.”

“Ok.”  One more kiss, this one to your forehead before you’re enveloped in a warm hug.  “Just get home safe, yeah?”

“I will.”

“We’re so god damn proud of you.”

You do your best to get your heartbeat and smile at that under control, to no avail.

The bar’s dead now.  Maybe a handful of people left as The Compound closes up.  The air is crisp and cool when you make it outside, the idling band bus in the alley.  No one’s inside, at least no one from the band.  Just roadies packing the Avengers’ shit away.

After the whole fight, the band just kinda dispersed.  Some going to grab a drink from the bar, others heading back to their hotel.  Who the hell knows where Bucky went.

To find another bump, probably.

You hum at the thought.  That doesn’t sound so bad right now.

_No._

“Hey, Sugar.”  A voice says to your right.  Upon seeing the owner of it, you smile.  “Headed out?”

“Hey, Bruce.  Yeah, I need to get some shut-eye.”  You chuckle softly.  “I’m wiped.”

“I’ll bet!”  He says, sharing in your laughter in his own soft tone.  You raise an eyebrow.  How did he know?  You hadn’t seen Bruce before this tonight.  You didn’t think he’d want to come in what with the huge crowd and all.  “Tony told me all about it.  I’m proud of you, kid.”  He echos Tony’s earlier sentiment.

You liked Bruce.  He was sweet, quiet.  Unlike the rest of the crew of The Compound.  Not that he was actually part of the crew anymore.  Tony’s retired bouncer - one who was stronger than he looked back in the day.  But even retired, he was there every night, trailing behind Tony and helping his husband with anything he needed.  Keeping Tony’s head screwed on straight when things got crazy.

Keeping you both on the straight and narrow.  He even said he felt responsible for you, once.

He’d been the one to find you  _that_  night, after all.

“Can you tell Tony I said thanks?”  Your fingers clench in your jacket pocket.  Itching to reach out and hug him, but knowing if you did you’d never let go.  “I uh…I don’t think I ever would’ve done something like that on my own.  It means a lot to me.  Means the world to me, actually.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”  You spin at the new voice, eyes landing on your boss who looks like he’s about to cry.  Clearing his throat, he sobers instantly and there is the smart-ass you’ve come to know and love.  “No need to repeat yourself.”  A smirk.  “I heard it all.”

“When you were eavesdropping?”

“Excuse me!”  A hand flies to his chest, astounded at your tone.  If he was wearing pearls, he’d be clutching them.  “I wasn’t the one spilling my heart out in the back alley.”  You roll your eyes when he drops the act and smiles.  You take a step to leave, hand thrown up to say ‘later’.  “Sugar.”  His voice stops you, dragging your eyes to the happy couple again.  “I'm proud of you. You’ve got what it takes, you know that?”

I’m proud of you.

Three words your  ~~family~~  parents had never said to you.  Ever.  Only that they knew you’d never make it.  That you were making a mistake.

Three words that you’d never heard before tonight.  Three words that you’ve heard  _four_  times tonight.  Look how far you’d come…

You didn’t think you could take the whiplash.

In spite of yourself, you smile and nod at your boss who was more of a father than your own had ever been.

“Yeah, Tony.  I know.”


	5. Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as stated in my last chapter of **[af·ter·glow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613981/chapters/44136832)**, I’m in the middle of a lot of adult life crap at the moment.  I’m doing my best to update fics regularly, but that may end up entailing only updating ONE fic a week. Whether it be this one, **[af·ter·glow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613981/chapters/44136832)** , or  **[Homecoming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751834/chapters/44483065). ** If that does come to pass, I will make a post announcing it so it won’t be completely out of the blue.  I do have a few oneshots lined up that are already written and edited, so I won’t be completely disappearing.  Just know that I appreciate y’all’s support and understanding while I sort everything out.  Love y’all!

##  ****_Five Years Ago_ ** **

_You slump on the side of the building, your heart racing faster than your head is spinning._

_There’s fumbling in front of you as the musician pulls his pants back up._

_Some shaggy headed kid who’d found you in the club and pulled you out back for some fun.  You’d seen him first, smiled and batted your eyes before his set.  It’s not until after his show that he finds you, hauls you out the back and made you forget the worst day you’d ever had._

_He was decent lay, probably pretty great actually, but you were so fucked up you had no way of knowing.  You were just a numb body and a pretty face along for the drugged up ride._

_“Hey!”  A voice calls into the night.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing out here?”  The two of you look to each other, strangers in the night getting caught doing the one thing that should be done in private.  
_

_Also, preferably not up against a brick wall.  Your back was screaming with new scratches from the clay and concrete that painted your skin in time with the boy’s thrusts._

_A good pain._

_Finally._

_“Fuckin!”  You giggle loudly, earning a snort from the man who’d just taken you upside the brick wall.  You struggle to remember his name…and the name of the place.  
_

_“You need to get out of here.”  The voice says, closer now.  You struggle to open your eyes.  “Ain’t no place for that kinda thing.”  
_

_He’s a shorter man - taller than you, sure - but nothing like the guy with you.  Still, he’s strong-looking.  A pair of broad shoulders and sturdy legs.  A curly mop of hair to frame his sweet face and you decide he doesn’t look like the normal bouncers do._

_“Aw, c’ mon, man.”  He says when he gets closer.  You open your eyes just enough to see he’s talking to your ‘date’.  “We talked about this.  No groupies in the alley.”  
_

_“I’m not a groupie!”  You defend, pushing off the wall.  A mistake, you find out, as seconds later you slump forward.  “I’m a musician too!”  Strong arms catch you and it takes a moment to realize which one of them caught you._

_Ah.  It was the alley lay.  The one with the magic fingers._

_“You’re also fucked up.”  The bouncer says before glaring at the other man.  “Would you get back inside?  Stark’s looking for you.  Says something about a record label rep?”  
_

_Instantly, he’s running back inside and you realize you’ll probably never see him again._

_Aw, well._

_“Now, let’s get you taken care of.”  Ever so carefully, he pulls your arm around his shoulders, taking the brunt of your weight and you giggle at the weightless feeling that follows.  
_

_“Mmm,” you hum.  “You know, you’re kinda cute.”  You say, no shame to be found.  He merely chuckles, probably more than used to the attention._

_“Thanks.  You sure your beau won’t mind you hitting on me?”_

_“Beau?”  Your face scrunches in confusion for a moment before your lips form a perfect ‘o’.  The bouncer cocks an eyebrow at you, smirk catching his lips.  “He’s not my beau.  I only met him a few hours ago.”  You shrug - a little difficult with the way he’s got a death grip on your arm to keep you upright.  You manage anyway.  “Besides, you may be cute but you’re not my type…you’re a little small for a bouncer, huh?”_

_He snorts when you slump further onto him, patting his cheek sweetly._

_“And you’re too high to know what you’re saying.  You’re a pretty girl.  Too pretty to be screwing around with deadbeat musicians in alleyways, anyway.”  You cock an eyebrow at him, eyes suddenly predatory.  He clears his throat.  “But, again. You’re not my type either.”_

_“Glad we cleared the air!”  You hiccup, a giggle following as his hand reaches for the door.  “What’s your name, mister?”  Brown eyes soften as they look back at you.  A sorry slip of a girl who’s barely legal and definitely too young to be mixed up in whatever drug is currently coursing through her veins._

_“Bruce.”_

##  **—**

##  **_Now_ **

After their performance, The Avengers practically swept out of town.

Here one minute, gone the next.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t care.  And God, did you care.

That night was one of the greatest nights of your life.  You got to meet your heroes - only one falling short of what you’d imagined - and then got to  _perform_  with them.  Bucky Barnes being a sloppy asshole aside, that night was a dream come true.

But that was all it ended up being.

A dream.

Life had to move on.

And move on it did.

Two weeks pass uneventfully.  Two weeks where you’re working late nights and sleeping most of the day away.  It was like nothing had ever happened.  Even the regulars who’d seen you belt your face off on stage have fallen back into the routine of throwing their orders at your then ignoring you until they had drinks in hand.

The only people who ever act like it happened are your friends.  Nat and Wanda bring it up almost daily, to your immense irritation, and ask if anything has come from it.  The answer is always the same - no.  Nothing has come from it.

Tony puts his offer for you to be opener back on the table, but you turn it down.  You had your fun.  Time to get back to reality.

Or, at least, that’s what you thought.

That is until you walk into work before opening this evening and see an all too familiar face leaning against the bar.  Well, his and a stranger.

“Sugar!”  Tony says, ignoring your gaping expression.  “You remember Steve?”  The snide motherfucker has the audacity to smirk at you.

“How could I not?”  You’re on autopilot as you approach, extending your hand in greeting which the blonde shakes vigorously.  “But you,” you point to the man at his side.  “I don’t think I’ve met.”

“You haven’t,” he confirms.  “I’m Sam.  Sam Wilson.  These crazy motherfuckers’ manager.” He shakes the hand you offer.

“Oh, wow.  I’m sorry?”  A chorus of chuckles meets your quip and Steve merely shrugs, knowing damn well they deserve it.  “So, what brings you boys back here?  I thought The Avengers were on tour?”

“They are.”  Sam sighs, his charming smile melting into a frown and he looks about 10 years older.  He looks tired.  “At least, they should be.”

“But,”  Tony interjects when he pops up again, drinks for the boys in hand.  For you, he offers a water.  One you grudgingly take.

“ _But_  Bucky is being the problem child now more than ever.  Showing up wasted, or not showing up at all.”  Steve growls, rolling his eyes.  “We’ve already had to cancel three shows.”  Your eyebrows shoot up, your eyes finding Tony’s only to find him wearing the same expression.

“Damn.”  You breathe.

“I know.  And at this point, venues are calling and asking if they should just cancel or refund fans altogether.”

“So you’re here to drown out the sorrows of a failed tour?”  You jest, ignoring the pang that brings up in your own chest.  You knew what it was like to work so hard at something only for the rug to be ripped out from under your feet.  You wouldn’t wish that on your worst enemy.

Tony senses your distress, his warm hand encasing yours as he grants you a smile.  You squeeze back, returning your attention to the two on your side of the bar.

“Actually,”  Sam starts, choosing his words slowly and carefully.  It’s definitely grabbed your attention.  “We’re here with an offer.  See, the label got a hold of some videos from your performance.”  Your heart stops, and god it must read clear as day on your face because Steve continues cautiously.

“ _Someone_ ,” a less than amused glance at Tony.  He only winks at the younger blonde.  “Must’ve slipped them a tape.  And they’re all over us to get our hands on the girl that ‘gave Barnes a run for his money’.”  He looks back to you, smirk gracing his handsome face.  “And the girl who left him hard for an entire show after just one kiss.”

Well,  _now_  you were flustered.

Your jaw hangs slack, eyes wide as you stare at one of your heroes pitch you a dream you’d never expect in a million years to come true.  You purposely ignore that last tag on.

You clear your throat, doing your best to organize your thoughts.  Finally, you spit out,

“So you’re saying you want me to replace Bucky Barnes?”  Steve chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not yet.  He’s got the rest of the tour to get his act together, but if not…The Avengers could be looking at a new leading lady.”  His smile fades, tone lowering as he thinks of what to say next.  “I’m not going lie to you.  It won’t be easy.  Some shows you may be doing solo, some you may just be back up vocals.  Hell, you may even have to take over halfway through!”  A large hand smooths over Steve’s tired features and he takes a breath.  “Look, Bucky is a handful on a good day…and he hasn’t been having very many of those as of late.”

Something flashes in Steves’ eyes then, a sorrow as he thinks of how far his best friend has fallen.  Of how much Bucky has lost himself to the substances. Something you knew of all too well and suddenly you know exactly what you need to do.  

Maybe you could do more than just help the band on this tour.  Maybe you could help Bucky the way Tony helped you.  You would just have to make sure Bucky doesn’t drag you right back down to the depths you’d been at when Tony - well, Bruce - found you.

It wouldn’t be easy.

Sure, you’d never tried to rehabilitate someone before - but you’d been on the other side of the awful process.  You hated Tony long before you came to love him.  Hated what he was putting you through.  But now…now you owed Tony your life.

If it hadn’t been for him…

You shiver, not even wanting to think about the possibilities.

“I know it’s a lot to ask-”  His shoulders sag, Sam patting him lightly on the back.

“I mean, as long as it’s ok with Tony?”

“What am I, your father?”  He ignores the look of _kinda, yeah_  on your face and waves you off, his eyes finding Steve beyond his tinted glasses.  “ _Please_  get her out of here.  She needs to live a life.”

“Jesus, thanks, Stark.  That doesn’t make me sound like a fuckin loser.”  He rolls his eyes so hard you swear they go back in his head.  Ignoring him, you turn to Steve once more.  “I would be honored, Steve.”  He lights up, smile illuminating his face once more.  Behind the bar, Tony snorts something along the lines of how ‘stuffy’ you sound.  You silently flip him off.

“Great!”  Steve claps his hands together, smile wide and infectious.  “Sam will fill you in on the details and everything you’ll need to pack.”  The manager in question sighs, tense breath blowing out through his nostrils.

“Let’s just hope this all doesn’t blow up in our faces…”

“Aw, c’ mon Wilson!  Don’t be such a downer!  What could possibly go wrong?”

“Rogers, you just don’t know when to keep your pretty mouth shut.”

**Author's Note:**

> Updates every Monday


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